Just One of Those Days
by RedBrushStroke
Summary: It was just one of those days…where something very important needed to be done. No matter how painful that something was... SpainxRomano one-shot T because


It was such a simple little box. A wooden box almost a perfect square. One foot long, and almost one foot wide. Made with sturdy oak, the box had managed to stay perfectly in tact for a few centuries or so. It had been spared the harshness of the outside, so its polish was still smooth and waxy as if it had been polished yesterday.

Upon the coffee table this little box sat, its brass lock and hinges twinkling. Green eyes watched it, almost expecting it to move…

`Many designs were etched into the sides, the lines curving and swirling gracefully against the grain of the ancient wood. Intricate patterns bordered the lid of the box, while small brass knobs roosted on each corner, connecting the borders.

In the middle of the lid, carefully carved, was a boat. A magnificent ship that road the waves of the baring sea. In the oak wood it was etched, details upon details were crammed into the small picture. Such as little canons that were pressed against the side of the ship, and ropes that webbed their way down the main mast, and swung low from the sails. It seemed so…realistic and perfect. So accurate to what it was modeled after.

In fact…if you were to stare at it long enough, it probably would look like it was proudly sailing upon the unfathomable depths of the ocean. Bobbing up and down, riding the waves…

Oh…I suppose such a box deserves the respect of being opened, no?

Romano sighed. Before he could even come close to opening the little latch of the box, he had to almost…well…prepare himself for what lay inside. He knew all too well what was hidden within the protective oak walls. He could name each little thing that rested peacefully inside…but, he was still determining whether or not it was _really_ the perfect time to reacquaint himself with the contents stored there.

Was it really worth opening this again? Romano had sworn to himself not to open it ever again! Not once! Yet he double-crossed himself later on and decided one day…one day in the far, far future, he would reopen the box.

Perhaps…it was the time. Perhaps it wasn't. But when would it be? Now? Tomorrow? Next week? A hundred years from now?

Ha! That's what he'd been saying for decades.

The Italian glanced outside. Rain. A soft pitter-patter of rain dancing outside and splashing onto the cobblestone below. The rain made a fast sifting sound, while the thunder's rumbling was slow and sluggish. The clouds overcast were a settle grey, just how Romano loved it. The perfect rain. Not too violent, but not too light either.

Enough procrastinating. It was time. Just open the damn box…

_Dear Tomato Bastard,_

_Where the hell are you? I'm hungry and cold, and Miss Belgium isn't here to make me warm food… I'd cook-but…I don't know how. Plus, the open fire place in the kitchen is fucking scary! It keeps spitting embers at me! I'll catch on fire if I stand too close!_

…

_But anyways, I want you to get your ass back here, you jerk. Your house is too big…and not that I'm lonely or anything, but it'd be nice if someone else were here half the time! I mean-I have the staff but they don't ever talk to me… In fact, they're really fucking mean! _

_Every time I ask for something one of the ladies will yell at me. They'll say I'm not independent enough and they wonder why you even care to keep me, I'm such a hassle… _

_Is that true? _

_Am I a nuisance? _

_I already know I'm not as good as my brother, but I'm trying to get there! _

_Hurry up and come home, bastard! I'm tired of waiting!_

_-Romano_

Romano stared at the piece of stiff parchment paper. He swallowed. His eyes darted across the paper once more, re-reading it at a quicker pace, before gently placing it down next to him.

_Tomato Bastard!_

_Where are you now? I've heard that you found some sort of new land or something like that. Well where the hell is it! No one tells me anything!_

_Is it cold there? If it is, I don't feel bad for you. It's your fucking fault you left me to go fall off the edge of the earth that is in fact __flat__! _

_But if it isn't cold and if you aren't dead, then are you enjoying yourself? Or are you fighting? Are you getting hurt! If you get hurt I swear I'm going to kick your ass! B-Because if you're hurt-who will fix me dinner? Who will make me the best damn churros in the world? And __who__ will help me harvest the tomatoes each year? I can't always do that myself… It's too much work, and I always trip because of this stupid dress you put me in!_

_I don't like falling you know! _

_Just get back home as soon as you can…unhurt…and not too cold because that'd suck for you._

_-Romano_

He couldn't do this… Only after two letters, Romano was ready to pack up and shove the box back in the attic where it belonged! All these fucking letters…every single one of them…they just brought back so many damn memories of those times…

When Spain was the most powerful empire in Europe, and when he was under complete control of the sunny country. When all he was used for was land…and…and…politics or wars…

Romano set the paper aside. One more…just…read one more…

Hesitantly, nervously almost…Romano reached for a random envelope and hauled it onto his lap. The paper was crisp and dry. Crinkly and beginning to decay. Romano scowled. Stupid time. He sighed as he took out the folded piece of paper.

_Dear Antonio…_

_I'm fucking worrying my ass off about you! Why won't you come home? Why won't you see me again? _

_The last time I saw you was so long ago…I don't know if it were years or months. But you gave me tomatoes, and that made me happy. _

_But then that stupid England guy had to come and ruin it for me-I mean you! You couldn't stay home anymore… And I couldn't see you…. _

_Apparently England wanted to get involved in some sort of colony of yours? Something about the Spanish Netherlands? Stupid bastard! So you had to go to war! I hate wars! _

_I hate them so much! My brother and I have been caught in the middle…and it hurt so much. No one to protect you…no one to help you…only to defend yourself. Grandpa wasn't there…and I couldn't save fratello…_

_Don't be like us! Win dammit win! Win this war!_

_But you're so stupid you can't even do that. Why did you let him beat you, Spain? __Why?__ N-Now I don't know where you are…and you could be dead for all I know. Belgium won't talk to me, no one will talk to me about you! Where are you? _

_I fucking miss you…_

_Rebel…conquer…cease…. I don't give a damn. Just get your sorry ass home so we can eat tomatoes together again… _

_Per favore? _

_-Romano_

Heavy silence encased Romano in a time capsule. He didn't know what year it was, he didn't know how old he was. He had no idea whether it was day or night.

All he could think about, were his stubby shaky hands, taking the feather pen, and scribbling down each little letter on the page. Each single loop and each single stroke, he had swallowed back a sob. Each individual word that had been drawn out at a painfully slow pace, had pained the little boy.

Romano remembered cursing at the candle because the candle had blown out, right before he was about to sign his name. He remembered trembling as he stuffed the paper into the envelope, and shoving it in the box.

And like every single letter Romano had written to his beloved Boss Spain, it was never sent. It was never to be read nor seen ever again. It had served its purpose, and now it was going to be shoved away forever.

Even now, Romano detested himself for writing the letters. They weren't even good, grammatically speaking. Yet…no matter how simple or pathetic they were, they meant everything to Romano. They _were _everything Romano. All his feelings packed into each letter. All his thoughts and memories, squeezed in tight through text. He had begun to write these letters because he had no idea what else to do. How was he suppose to speak to Spain without actually letting him know he was speaking to him? Letters never to be sent. That is how Romano "communicated".

And Romano hated himself for it.

How dare he be so weak as to write down every feeling he felt. How dare he write them in the format of letters, speaking directly to Antonio and _only_ Antonio.

What was he thinking?

That this sort of self-developed therapy would help him cope with his pain of lonesomeness and worry? Ha! Such a weak child he was…

A few tears, not many, streamed steadily down the southern Italian's face. He stared blankly at the paper, staring at the age-old ink that forever stained the paper. He couldn't bring himself to crush or burn the box. He couldn't bring himself to shred each letter individually. He could not bring himself to harm the letters in any way shape or form…

No matter how much he wanted them gone, he couldn't do it.

Romano swallowed.

Consumed in thought, in a pensive trance of painful memories and emotions he had wanted to leave behind, it was nearly impossible for him to hear the rustling of clothing as another figure stood behind him.

Emerald green orbs peeked over Romano's shoulder and carefully read the scraggly handwriting. Chocolate brown eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he finished reading.

"…Romano. Is that really what you thought?"

Too tired and emotionally drained to feel shocked, embarrassed or 'caught'… The only thing Romano could resort to was nodding his head silently, clenching the paper tighter. His head continued to nod, as his world became a blur of wet, salty tears.

"…I missed you…so much," Romano squeaked, forgetting his pride (though he knew he'd regret it with his life later), "I missed you…so, so much…and it hurt…it hurt…so bad."

Spain's lips curved into a small frown of…oh…disappointment. But not towards his beloved tomato, but towards himself. He hated being oblivious to everything around him.

Spain leaned down and coiled his arms around Romano's figure, burying his face in his lover's shoulder.

He breathed in deep, taking in the sweet scent of almond.

"I missed you too. And every night, I could only pray that you were safe and sound…" Spain chuckled, "I'd even say 'good night, Romano' out loud…just so I wouldn't break our routine."

Romano sniffled, accepting the yearned for embrace.

They sat a while. Not moving, the letters' presence loomed over them.

Finally, Romano shifted, his hand lifting to press against Spain's cheek.

"Just don't do it again…I don't know if I could bear it…"

The Spaniard nodded, squeezing his former henchmen.

"Never again, Romano. Never again."

Romano placed the letter back into the box. He and Spain then placed the box back in the attic, where it would remain until the next time.

It was just one of those days…where something very important needed to be done. Something that had been procrastinated for God knows how long, and when you finally got around to doing it, you felt better. Then once said chore was done, it was a great joy to know you wouldn't have to bother with it ever again.

It's just getting out of bed to _get_ the chore done that makes the ordeal such a hassle…

Wouldn't you agree?

* * *

><p><strong>Meh. Not really too incredibly happy with this one. I haven't written in forever and it's been pissing me off so badly you don't even know. So I suppose it's somewhat of an exercise. <strong>

**Errors are probably plentiful because this is a first draft that i just whipped up. blerg. I know the letters could probably be more insightful, but...yeah... Lots of editing to be done. *sigh***

**Hopefully it'll pass as some sort of good writing piece!**

**EDIT: by the way! a reviewer stated my history was wrong, and i re-checked (because i had previously briefly read about the Spanish Armada) and Spain was wanting to overthrow Elizbeth 1 to stop English involvement in the Spanish Netherlands. There are other parts of course lots and lots of history but that was a main reason. I remembered reading something about Netherlands. But anyways, thanks for the correction! **

**R&R~**

**Hetalia does not belong to me. Nor does Spain or Romano**


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